The Magic

Why I am Thankful for my Festival Family

And why you should be thankful for yours, too.

Welcome to your Safe Space

This zone is judgement free and you are free to be. All brought to you by the people you hand-picked and picked up along the trip. It is what makes for this special breed of friendship, as they get to see you deplete to your most wild, primal, rage-for-survival form.

These are the people who defended you when you weren’t around to say it. Who only laughed when your brain vomited its most vile bile statement. They carried you when you were too drunk, and it’s because you have (or will) carry them too. You can do what you want with no hesitation: say it, sing it, sip it, breathe it, believe it, move with it, live within it. They’re there to live it too, experience the moment right next to you.

We built our Home

Welcome to the night skies where you dreaded sleep. Welcome to the sunshine, the hot summer days with blankets sprawled in front of the main stage. 11816171_10207542484979912_6419912213386005785_o 

We are the modern music nomads, building a new home wherever we choose to make it. Our easy-up castles temporarily tower over bundles of blankets and under our piles of
smiles. Cuddle puddles. Campfire circles and hammock stacks. Hand-painted banners and painted faces. Lots and lots of glitter. Hotel rooms with twice the amount of people written on the security deposit…and then a hotel party on top of it. The nights we were sure to get kicked to the street. Following the sparkly sidewalks and always having a place to stay because we keep friends in every city of any state.

We are the ultimate networkers, go-getters, and make-doers, building shelters in 100+ degrees and when it’s raining down in sheets because nothing can rain on our parade. Our feet might get stuck, but we’ll still dance in the inches mud.

The Legacy

There’s nothing quite like living in real-time knowing the moment will get retold. We are compiling an archive of inside jokes and horror stories told with our eyes closed.  These are the Memoirs of the Crew, the Salmon Bitches, and of Chakra HQ. It is a compost of everything between “well, we learned from that” and “we need to go back”.

These tales are passed down strictly through word-of-mouth, just as native tribes would. Huddled around campfires and kegs, we retell the legacy of our brothers and sisters: the never-ending ragers and festival saviors.

We give thanks to our caretakers, flow artists and the fire tenders.

We are extra grateful for that friend who’s always on our level and to the ones who resurface a memory half forgotten. Together, we refine the conversations that bubbled between laughter sometime after 3 a.m., and we find a new appreciation for them.

We are thankful for our dance partners and our partners in crime. We are thankful for the sharing between “yours” and “mine”.

I couldn’t feel more in place than in the space we have created over the years. I am so thankful for every member, every adventure, and every story suspended in the future.

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